The Secret History of Howard Moon
by Beechwood0708
Summary: At last! Howard's life from his fifteenth birthday to pulling Vince out of school to work at the Zooniverse. Will depart heavily from series 3 canon, and rated for such unsavoury themes as TEEN PROSTITUTION.
1. London Calling

Ha! I told you it would come! Very very late... um...

But first, something completely different- I was thinking at some point I might try writing a load of fics based on songs (think fanvids from someone withot any moviemaking software). One of these would be When You Were Young by the Killers (someone did make a vid to this song, but I'm putting my own take on it) for some of my trademark angstyness, and also Lovesong by The Cure for something nice and sweet, and possibly Song to Say Goodbye by Placebo, tho I'm not entirely sure about that one because I don't want to overload on tragedy. So bascally, two questions: 1) Do y'all think this is a good idea? and 2) Any requests?

Anyways, this story will depart heavily from series 3 canon later on (it's based mainly on throwaway comments from series 1), which also happens to be why it's rated. To reiterate: TEEN PROSTITUTION. You have been warned.

Enough of that, it's a long 'un, so enjoy :-)

Disclaimer: T'ain't mine, it's Mr Barratt's an Mr Fielding's. They may assassinate me for not discaliming, and I don't want to take chances.

* * *

The Secret History of Howard Moon

Howard Moon had been robbed of a birthday. He had been told it would be best for him; he was about to begin his first GCSE year, and needed the best education that could be found. His parents couldn't hope to afford to send him to public school or anything like that, so by some strange logic, getting the best possible education meant moving down south. They had said that Leeds and London weren't too different, but that didn't matter to Howard. What mattered was leaving his friends. And at that particular time. August the twenty-fourth. Eleven days before his fifteenth birthday. Leaving Leeds to early to celebrate there, arriving in London too late to make any friends to celebrate with there.

"You should brighten up," moaned his mother.

Howard didn't say anything. He just went upstairs, wanting badly to collapse on his bed and sulk, but couldn't because it didn't have a mattress on it.

He knew Ruth would have taken his side if she'd been there. But Ruth was away in Asia trying to figure out what to do with her life after she had failed to get into university and was being used as an argument in their parents' favour.

"Are you hiding out up here?" the oppressive voice of his mother shouted through the door. "Give me a hand with your boxes, or some of it might just go missing."

He slumped up and down the stairs a few times, carrying and depositing boxes in his room, not bothering to unpack them. There'd be plenty of time to do that later. Two years, at least.

Sitting on the wooden frame of his bed, his eyes fell on one particular box. It was a box of presents he had been practically forbidden from touching until his birthday. He had had to sit through a lecture from his terminally odd mother about not opening presents before he had something to celebrate, and then she had refused to speak to him for two days after he had tried to explain, as politely as possible, that he wanted his friends to see him open them. And that he hadn't ruined his birthday because he still had his presents from his family, who never usually saw what they got him again. And that if anyone had ruined his birthday, it was her for taking him away from his friends in the first place. But some people just don't see sense very easily.

"Howard, if you're not going to do anything useful, why don't you just go and… explore or something!" that shrill voice screeched again. "I don't want you sitting up here moping and getting in the way all day."

Sullenly and silently, Howard left the house and went on to the street. He stuck to main roads, making a mental note of where he went, and just wandered around until his feet got tired and his mindbox got bored of being pissed off. Instinctively, he looked at his wrist, but then remembered that there was nothing there because his watch had broken, and he couldn't use the one Nick had so thoughtfully got him for his birthday because he hadn't had his birthday yet.

Turning a corner, he spotted some random Schwarzkopf-headed waif milling around looking at a wall.

"'Scuse me, mate!" he called. "Got the time?"

The skinny boy on the corner turned round to see him, and Howard was met with a face that made him gasp. The pronounced cheekbones, down-pointing nose and huge blue eyes all indicated the face of someone he had honestly thought was never going to come into his life again. A homeless boy he had become close to back in primary school and helped to run away, who he hardly ever thought of any more, except thoughts along the lines of "how many people will that ever happen to?"

Before he even realised what was going on, his arms were around Vince Noir's neck, squeezing him for dear life, and Vince's were wrapped just as tightly under Howard's arms.

"Oh my god… I thought…"

"Me too."

They flung their arms around each other again, Vince pushing his face into Howard's shoulder, and Howard squeezing Vince with his fingers.

Vince's eyes barely left Howard as he took him to see his digs. Vince's main hideaway was a room in an unused house in a slum quarter of town, protected by seclusion and the loyalty of the local tramps, which looked like nothing at all from outside, but inside was like an extension of Vince himself, full of patchworked beanbags, bright and shiny salvaged things, a broken wardrobe painted in bright colours by Vince himself, a small pocket TV and a well-used sewing machine. Howard told Vince the situation in his old town and the way his parents constantly let him down, and Vince filled Howard in on London life and the history of his hairstyles, and how he had finally come to settle on having it auburn with black streaks, and aside from the fact that Vince now spoke with a perfect South London accent, it was as though they had never separated at all.

"You used to tell me I was so lucky not to have parents," Vince reminded Howard, laughing to himself.

"Parents are a pain in the arse," replied Howard. "More so as you get older. I wish I had run away with you before."

"But then you'd be here anyway," Vince reasoned.

Howard laughed, and decided not to reply. Vince's logic didn't seem to have been made to argue with. He had learned that four and a half years ago, and now the latent information had come flooding back to him like Vince had opened up a dam that time had built in his mind.

The daylight outside faded, replaced with the sickly bright glow of the streetlights, and Vince turned on some cheap battery-powered lights. As the evening drew in, Howard decided he had better return home, fearing that his mother would have gone past the point of sympathetic worry and into the dangerous realms of "where the hell have you been, you're having a laugh if you think I'm letting you out in the next four years" territory.

"Hey, I was thinking," Vince said as Howard was leaving. "It's your birthday soon, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Howard replied, surprised and touched to learn that Vince still remembered even after so long.

"Well, you remember how when I first met you you took me out for mine?"

"Yeah."

"Well… d'you wanna go out with me?"

Howard grinned, and then laughed. "The way you just said it," he giggled. "It sounded like you were asking me out."

"Did I?" Vince asked, laughing with him. He stopped laughing, then asked again. "Do you though?"

Howard smiled. "Yeah."

When he got home his mother was faintly pissed off but not enough to cause any trouble for him. Howard decided he didn't care.

* * *

Howard's new school began the day before his birthday. He found himself waiting at the gates, watching people, watching them relate, interact, know each other. Just like he didn't. Couldn't. 

"Hiya!" Vince squealed at him, creeping up behind him and squeezing his sides. "What's up?"

"Nothing," said Howard, perhaps a little too defensively "I'm just-"

"You busy tomorrow night?" Vince asked, grinning like a bobcat.

"No," Howard sighed. His parents still hadn't finished sorting the house out, and the cost of this was his birthday celebrations. Of course they had rescheduled them, but celebrating when he'd already been fifteen for over a week just wouldn't be the same.

"I've got a surprise for you," Vince teased. "But I won't tell you what it is."

"Of course not," said Howard. "Then it wouldn't be a surprise." He smiled acceptingly, enjoying the slightly affronted look on Vince's face as he failed to provoke a reaction.

"We'd better go in," said Vince as the strained sound of a ringing bell floated through the playground.

Howard was happy to find that he and Vince had been put in the same form, but rather disappointed to find as he received his timetable that they shared no other classes. Howard tended to be in the higher sets for Maths and Science, while Vince struggled in them, and while Howard could barely make himself understood in French, Vince was allegedly top of the year, and better than most of the year above, according to some people. They were placed in different classes for English, though apparently both were the same ability, and while Howard had elected (mainly by the incessant coercing of his mother) to take the full GCSE in Religious Studies, Vince only did half. And they had chosen different options; Howard took Engineering, to please his father, Geography, to stop his father disowning him, and Music, his passion and his compromise, while Vince indulged his own passions in Art, Textiles and Media Studies.

"Shit," Howard muttered.

"Well…" thought Vince. "We've got Citizenship. That's just an hour of nothing. And after school. You won't be able to get rid of me after school." He grinned. "And don't forget about your birthday surprise."

"Like I could, you've been reminding me of it for the last half an hour," smiled Howard.

For a while, he thought he might have been overreacting when he declared his hatred of London. Well, not so much overreacting as not seeing the bright side. But the feeling didn't last.

Without Vince to guide him through London life he felt vulnerable, and couldn't shake the feeling that he was being scrutinised or mentally attacked. It seemed to him that most of his classmates associated being northern with being thick, and he even got the same vibe from one of his teachers. He kept his head down through the morning, working hard to prove himself, but nervous, afraid that he might not be able to.

It came as an enormous relief when he went to meet Vince for lunch. He found him in the corner of the canteen where Vince had said he would be, chatting with a tableful of other boys and a few girls, all of whom had made some attempt to accessorise their uniforms, though none managed it quite as well as Vince did. Thankfully, Howard didn't recognise any of them from his lessons that morning.

Howard sat down and noticed Vince's friends regarding him warily. Vince either hadn't noticed this or was ignoring it, and slung an arm round Howard's shoulders and introduced him. Howard didn't feel any real acceptance or interest when they said hello to him, and it made him nervous. But Vince, as he continued the conversation he had been having when Howard arrived, kept throwing him glances and smiles, and one cheeky little wink, and that made Howard feel better. As long as Vince was there for him, it didn't matter what these others thought.

The bell rang for afternoon lessons and Howard's heart sank. His first lesson of the afternoon was Geography, which he actually felt he might enjoy of he didn't have his father expecting perfection in it. He supposed he might like it yet if the teacher was nice.

He just saw, out of the corner of his eye, one of Vince's friends whisper something into his girlfriend's ear. Howard didn't hear what he said, but he saw Vince's face pale, and an odd look which Howard thought must be rage crept onto his face. It didn't suit him at all, Howard thought.

"Take it back," said Vince, his voice low.

The other boy laughed. "Vince-"

"Take it back now!" Vince shouted.

The other boy laughed again, but it was cut short by a sharp punch in the mouth.

He stood and stared for a split second before hitting back, catching Vince just above his belly. Vince swung his fist back, face twisted in vengeful rage.

"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE!?"

In fifteen years Howard had never quite heard anyone shout quite that loud. Vince and the other boy immediately dropped their fists, looking at the red-faced teacher in ashamed anxiety.

"To lessons, the rest of you!" the teacher ordered. "NOW!"

Glancing back to Vince's worried face, Howard was forced to leave with the others. He hoped Vince wouldn't be in too much trouble.

* * *

Howard was waiting on Vince's corner. Vince had been a little pissed off the day before because he had been given detention, but he had cheered up because it wasn't till Friday and wouldn't interfere with what he had planned for Howard's birthday. 

Just what he had planned remained a mystery. He had been teasingly aloof that day at school, but, and Howard was extremely thankful, not to the point where Howard felt ignored, which was probably what the majority of Vince's other friends wanted.

Vince had just told Howard to meet him on the corner at eight. And so Howard had done, and when his mother complained that he could be helping her sort out the last few boxes of books and miscellany, he had stormed out of the house and walked away while she shouted after him.

He looked at his watch, now he was finally permitted to wear it. Seven fifty-six. Soon.

"Boo!" cried Vince, and Howard jumped, suppressing a yelp as he felt sharp fingers prod him on either side of his waist. He looked round to find Vince leaning round the corner and giggling. "Scared ya," he teased.

"I let you," defended Howard.

Vince rolled his eyes. "Come on, anyway," he grinned, taking Howard by the arm and pulling him along. He led Howard to a rusted old table, probably thrown out by some café somewhere, covered by a simple white cloth and adorned with some strange object that, Howard noticed as he looked a little closer, was made of twisted wire and cloth, though what it was meant to be, Howard wasn't sure. Maybe it wasn't meant to be anything. Things didn't have to with Vince.

Vince sat him down, pulling out his chair and bowing, and giggling as he did so. He disappeared into an alley where Howard could see a warm glow, and returned a moment later with a shabby-looking but smiling woman, each of them carrying something on a plate.

"This is Margarita," said Vince. "The only person I have ever met who can get any kind of decent food off a tyre fire."

Margarita smiled, put the food down on the table and turned to go back into the alley, but Vince took her arm and whispered something to her. She looked shy and reluctant, but eventually conceded, and came and sat down next to Howard. As Vince disappeared again, Margarita smiled shyly.

"And now," shouted Vince, who had by now returned and was stood on a sort of impromptu podium made of cinderblocks, bricks and bits of scaffolding, "presenting the vocal talents of Mr Tony Ice!"

Grinning, Vince hopped down and left the makeshift stage to one of the biggest and most frightening-looking people Howard had ever seen. But he smiled an easy, relaxed smile, and his stance was so casual and open that Howard couldn't help but like him as he opened his mouth and released some of the most beautiful words Howard had ever heard.

Vince came and sat on his other side, helping himself to a meal of his own. The food was lovely, much better than the half-hearted efforts his parents had been making since they arrived in London. It made him feel quite ashamed to have been anxious about eating something that had been cooked on a tyre fire.

As he finished, and Tony Ice finished a strange and lyrical ballad about a traveller, a shooting star and a yew tree, Margarita got up and left, and Tony, after taking a bow, followed her.

"Thanks, Vince," said Howard, turning to his friend, and grinning when he saw that Vince was holding a rather large tub of Ben and Jerry's.

"Stole it myself," smiled Vince with a wink. "From Waitrose."

They dug in, and between them had finished the whole tub in under half an hour.

"I got you something as well," said Vince, looking perhaps a little bashful. "Sorry it's not wrapped or nothing."

He held something out, and Howard took it. He grinned. It was a bandana, hand-customised in Vince's trademark style, bright and flashy. Howard tied it loosely around his neck, then watched Vince twitch slightly, and laughed as Vince's hands shot up to adjust it.

"Thanks," said Howard.

Vince just smiled. "Happy Birthday."


	2. The Man's World

Yay! While chapter one took months (I think) to arrive, chapter two is here after just one day! This is because I love y'all! Woopwoop!

I don't know if the law about leaving school as soon as you're sixteen is true, but I remember hearing when I was still in high school that it was, and I just thought it was a good plot device. If it's not true, well, the Boosh is a parallel universe, ain't it.

Not as long as the last, but even still, I hope you like it.

* * *

School passed as an unwelcome distraction that year for Howard. Over the course of the year, Vince's friends grew to know him, but he still felt a certain uneasiness around them; a stark contrast to how he felt around Vince, which was like being alone, only not lonely. Sometimes he remembered how his old friends had accepted Vince without question back in primary school. The thought made him sad.

He got through Year Ten and passed on to Year Eleven. The pressure doubled. He was predicted a D in Engineering, and his father was pissed off. He was predicted a B in Geography, but by some perverted logic his father seemed even more pissed off by this news. He was predicted an A in Music. He was proud. His parents didn't seem to care.

He was the first in his year to turn sixteen. No one asked him to buy them cigarettes. The former eldest in the year apparently hated him. Howard knew who he was, and knew that he was asked to buy cigarettes for people all the time.

In short, life was shit.

There was only one thing that Howard saw as making living in that dead-end nowhere street in that middle-class slum worth it. And that thing was Vince. Vince understood him better than any of the other so-called friends, better than the teachers, better even than his own parents or his sympathetic but permanently absent sister. He had even lately begun to see Vince more each day that he did his family, and he couldn't be happier with that arrangement. When he was depressed, Vince made him smile, and when he was happy, Vince made him more so. Vince was made of rainbows and sparklers and chocolate chip cookies, and he was infectious.

* * *

As the Citizenship teacher droned on, evidently as bored as they were, if not more so, Vince and Howard sat slumped and quiet, bored shitless now that Vince's rude origami fortune-teller had lost its appeal. As Vince, along with the rest of the class, wondered why someone had decided that this pointless drivel merited an hour to be taken from their week, Howard was idly flicking through the textbook, glazed eyes skimming over articles that didn't interest him, and probably didn't interest anyone besides the people who wrote them.

But then, something caught his eye.

…_as soon as the child reaches the age of sixteen, he is free to leave school and pursue life as he chooses…_

"Hey Vince," he whispered, tapping Vince on the shoulder.

"What?" asked Vince, a little too loudly, and jumping a little like he'd just been woken up.

"Look at this," said Howard, pointing out the passage.

"Not bad," said Vince.

Howard turned to him, excitement burning in his small dark eyes. "I'm gonna do it."

"What?" said Vince, as quietly as he could, in disbelief. "You're gonna bugger off and leave school?"

"Yeah," answered Howard, a self-assured smile forming on his lips.

"But what about me?" Vince asked him. "I can't leave. I'm not sixteen till May."

"I'm not gonna be going anywhere," Howard reassured him, laughing softly. "I just won't be coming to school."

Vince's blue eyes looked into Howard's, but then he smiled, and Howard knew Vince would support him a hundred per cent.

And so, after school, Howard found himself in a room with some advisor or some such person who was using re-hashed and pointless arguments to vainly try and get him to stay in school.

"Now, Mr Moon, you're obviously a very intelligent young man, it's plain to see, and that's why it's so important you continue with your studies. You need the support and means to develop your own intellect-"

"That's the thing; I don't think I am developing my intellect. I think I might be doing myself genuine psychological damage by staying here. I am requesting as a mature legal adult to make the decision that I feel is the best for me."

And she knew she couldn't keep him there. It didn't matter how badly thought-out his arguments were, as long as he was persistent, he would win out in the end. He had the legal right to.

And so, by the end of the meeting, he was free.

"So what you gonna do now?" Vince asked him as they left school.

"Every man's dream, Vince," answered Howard, gazing up at the sky. "I'm gonna work my own way, and I'm gonna get myself famous while I'm doing it."

"How?"

Howard thought hard for answer that wasn't "I haven't decided yet."

"Whatever comes naturally," was the answer he decided on. It was still basically "I haven't decided yet", but it was more sure and definite. It made him feel better.

Vince was definitely impressed though. "That sounds amazing," he grinned.

They came to the corner where they parted ways. "So I'll see you…" began Vince.

"Probably tonight," said Howard. "I'd better go and see how the parentals take it." He rolled his eyes, evidently expecting the worst.

"Cool," said Vince. They hugged, and Vince disappeared round the corner.

* * *

"You did what!"

His mother stood before him, hands on her hips, eyes aflame and face a perfect imitation of an angry thunderclap. His father, having unfortunately come home early, was just behind her, looking even more furious.

Howard didn't say anything, and kept his face neutral. This he knew would be the best course of action. If he defended himself, that meant he had done something wrong. He hadn't.

"You dropped out of school without even mentioning it to us!" She looked something like a sunburnt lobster on meth. Again Howard chose to keep quiet. It wasn't like she really wanted him to answer anyway. "How dare you ruin your own future like this? I don't care what you say to me, young man, tomorrow you're going back into that school and getting yourself put back into your classes! No buts, Howard! I refuse to let you drop out of school when you're this close to the end of your GCSEs! When you're this close to making something of yourself!"

His face still neutral, he kept his voice calm. "No. I won't do that."

"What?" his mother seethed.

"I am a legal adult, and I will make something of myself the way I choose to." He couldn't quite keep the pent-up anger and frustration out of his voice as he finished his assertion.

"Howard, you might have reached the age of consent, but you are not a legal adult! And you- Howard! Howard, get back here this instant! Howard!"

But he was gone.

* * *

He wandered the streets alone as night fell. He knew that they would expect him to return in the morning, humbled by his night on the streets, apologetic and ready to submit to their demands.

But he never did.


	3. Male Prostitute

Warning: this is the chapter that introduces teen prostitution. It includes a fairly graphic and quite disgusting sexual scene, but because of Howard's age in the story I have not included any description of the act of sex itself and have tried to tone it down as much as possible. Nonetheless, this scene is separated from the rest of the chapter by lines of X's, so you can skip it if you want to.

And in case anyone wonders, the reason for Bob Fossil's hatred of Howard in the series will be explained in a later chapter, which is why he seems a bit out of character in this one.

Hope it does not displease.

* * *

He wished more than anything else that he had gone to Vince's squat the night he had run away. Thinking back on it, that would have been the most sensible thing he could possibly have done. Vince would have sheltered him and helped him adapt to street life, and made sure the authorities never found out where he was. Why hadn't he thought of that? All he remembered of that night was fearing that Vince would be found out at school, and someone would use him to get to Howard. The fact that this was just bloody unlikely and that Vince was a good actor and knew when to keep his trap shut hadn't registered then. Like it was registering now, now that it was too late. 

Thinking he couldn't go to Vince, he had just kept walking. He had just walked through streets and alleys for three days, barely even looking where he was going, and now he had no idea where he was.

And street life just wasn't meant for him. He couldn't pull it off the way Vince did. Vince made homelessness look so easy and effortless, so normal, but Howard was cold and lost and hungry, and he didn't know where it was safe to squat and where it wasn't, or how to tell the friendly, helpful destitutes from the psychopaths. He had no money, and the only way he could think of to get food was scrounging through bins, but that was the sickest thing he had ever considered.

But he hadn't eaten in three days…

"Oi! You!"

Howard spun round looking for the owner of the voice.

"You looking for business on my turf, sweetcheeks?"

The speaker was a huge man, a few inches taller than Howard himself, with long hair hidden under an odd plumed hat, and wearing a long emerald green coat that made him look unnaturally thin. He stood over Howard, looking down at him with narrowed eyes.

"No, sir," Howard stammered. "I'm looking for food."

He felt the man's eyes running all over him. Shame and embarrassment burned through Howard as he felt himself being sized up.

"You know," said the man, "there's no reason an attractive young man like you should have to starve."

"What do you mean?" Howard asked, his voice small and wavering.

"I mean there'll always be work for you if you want it," the man replied.

Howard thought for a moment, trying to figure out what this odd person was on about.

_Shit!_ he thought as it hit him. _This guy's a pimp._

But it could work out, he reasoned with himself. Some Vince's friends claimed to have had sex already, and they seemed to feel like it wasn't as big a deal as everyone made it out to be. And the sex education he'd been forced to sit through years before had made it seem so biological, so clinical.

But it was an awfully big step, to sacrifice his virginity to someone just because they paid him money.

But what else could he do? He needed to eat.

"Okay," he said.

* * *

The pimp took him to a house nearby, well-maintained, if a little drab, on the outside, but warm and lived-in on the inside. He led Howard up, past a lounge that echoed with the sound of laughing male voices, and into a bedroom containing a large double bed and various items of old wooden furniture. 

"Here we go," smiled the pimp. "A bit more private." He sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him. Howard nervously sat next to him, keeping a few inches between his thigh and that of the pimp. "So, first, just a few things about yourself. How old are you?"

"I'm- nineteen," he stammered, cursing his stuttering tone and hoping that the pimp would put it down to nerves.

The pimp laughed, and Howard's throat tightened with fear. "My arse are you nineteen," he chuckled. "Come on, how old are you really?"

Howard had to stop himself from trembling. He didn't know what to say.

"Out with it," the pimp continued. "How old are you? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?" he clicked his fingers, a triumphant smile on his face. "Twenty-eight," he guessed.

Howard stared. Twenty-eight? How could he be mistaken for twelve years older than his actual age? Still, at least he wouldn't be found out.

"Whatever," sighed the pimp, smiling. "I'll believe you're nineteen." He looked at Howard with a keen, searching eye. "So tell me about your experience."

Howard actually shook. And he must have gone pale or something, because the pimp was looking at him in the oddest way. Concerned, yet curious.

"I, erm… I don't exactly-"

"Oh, you're a virgin!" cried the pimp, laughing a little, but not out of mockery. He actually seemed to be quite pleased. "Well, sweetheart, say no more. This really is a wonderful opportunity. It's not often you get a de-virginisation to market."

Howard thought he might be sick at those words.

"Now, we'll have to make this worth it, so we'll talk about customers later. That is, of course, assuming you still want to take the job."

Howard considered leaving with his dignity intact. It was plain to see he was not going to be forced. He could save himself, he could always leave and find some other way to keep going.

"I'll do it."

He almost felt the change in the room. A sort of pause in time before anything happened, a mark of respect for the irreversible change he had just brought into his life. And then the pimp smiled.

"Wonderful," he said, leaning over to give Howard a gentle hug. "In that case, my darling, I am Edmund Fellatino, and you are?"

"Howard Moon."

"My pleasure, Moonshine."

* * *

After explaining a few things; that he took ten percent of all his boys' earnings, and in exchange he offered them protection against abusive customers, authorities and the like, and that he asked for an extra fifty euros a week rent to stay in the house, Fellatino took Howard out onto the streets. There he explained to him the best places to pick up customers, where Fellatino's territory ended, spots he should avoid, where he should and where he couldn't do business. And Howard took it all in. 

Fellatino had dressed him up as well, before they had gone. He had found some clothes Howard's size; a tight-fitting lime green shirt, equally tight jeans, boots (though Fellatino refused to allow him to wear heels; he claimed he liked to be taller than his boys, and Howard had noticed he was wearing five-inch stilettos) and a wide-brimmed hat decorated with black ribbon. Howard felt odd in them, like he was a product on show. Which, in a way, he was.

"Hey, Fellatino!"

Howard looked around at the sound of a cheerful American voice. He found himself looking at a man with a somewhat vacant-looking grin, quite big and rather chubby, and wearing a suit that was clearly made for someone a little lighter.

"Mr Fossil," smiled Fellatino, holding out a hand. "Are you looking for one of your regulars? I think Damien's just a few streets down there, and little Kyle just passed this way a few minutes ago."

"No, not tonight," grinned Fossil. "Tonight I'm looking for something new. Kinda… fresh. And sweet. Real real sweet."

"I might have just the thing for you there," said Fellatino, smiling deviously and putting a hand on Howard shoulder. "This is my new boy. My Moonshine here's just nineteen, and he's a virgin."

"Oh really," said Fossil. "And how much does your Moonshine charge?"

"Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves, Mr Fossil?" asked Fellatino. He turned to Howard. "What do you think, Moonshine? Are you ready for this? Or would you rather wait?"

Howard looked over Mr Fossil. He wasn't attractive in any sense of the word. And Howard had a slight suspicion he might be a bit mentally unstable. But he was a prostitute; he couldn't expect all his offers to be rippling Adonis's with good fashion sense and lots of money. In fact, he was surely more likely to be overwhelmed with losers and freaks. People who couldn't get sex from proper partners. He might as well start now.

"Yeah, alright."

Fellatino smiled and slapped him on the back. "See, he's enthusiastic." The laughing grin dropped from his face. "I was three hundred and seventy-five for the de-virginisation."

"Three hundred and seventy-five, what am I, made of Rolexes?" cried Fossil. "I'll give you two hundred."

Howard watched them barter for about twenty minutes, as Mr Fossil tried in vain to offer items of his clothing or his personal possessions or, on one occasion, bits of his hair to decrease the price, until they eventually agreed that Howard should lose his virginity for three hundred and ten euros. He felt afraid as he watched. All sense of control was lost to him.

Fellatino came over and put both hands on Howard's shoulders. "Don't worry Moonshine," he whispered to him. "Bob Fossil's good with the virgins. He knows when to take it slow. He'll teach you a trick or two, believe you me." He smiled. "And remember- you can always say no and give them the money back."

He gave Howard a squeeze and left. Mr Fossil led Howard to his car and let him into the passenger seat. They drove a few minutes in silence, until Mr Fossil stopped in front of a house. Just a house. Not a huge sordid sex den. Just a regular bland-looking house in a row of other almost identical bland-looking houses.

Mr Fossil opened the door for him and led him up to the front door. He let them both in and led Howard up to the bedroom. When he turned on the light, the room was comfortable. A double bed, lots of pillows, the light not too harsh nor too dim. It was quite a nice room, Howard thought.

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable," said Mr Fossil with a wink, leaving him to it.

He lay down on the bed, bouncing a little to test the springs. It was soft and comfy, and it did bounce very pleasantly. He sat up, leaning back on the soft pillows and just bounced, smiling to himself, until Mr Fossil returned.

He saw Fossil's face crease up in laughter. This made him very confused.

"Sorry!" giggled Mr Fossil. "I forgot you're new to the game. When I say 'make yourself comfortable', that usually means 'take your clothes off'."

"Oh," said Howard, feeling himself go red.

"Don't worry about it. Come here."

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Howard crawled over to the edge of the bed where Mr Fossil had sat down. He shuddered slightly as Fossil's fingers reached inside his tight shirt and unfastened the buttons slowly, one by one, from the inside. Howard gasped, and Mr Fossil shushed him quietly, grinning like a subdued maniac. Peeling Howard's shirt from his shoulders, Fossil guided Howard's hands to his own bulging shirt and let Howard shakily fumble with the buttons to reveal Fossil's bare, hairy chest. Howard felt repulsion wave over him, momentarily making him nauseous, as Fossil moved his hands over to his nipples. But he was a prostitute now, and he needed to do his job.

Tentatively, he pressed his fingers over Fossil's hardening nipples, working up the courage to rub them.

He gasped and almost pulled back to feel a sticky wet sensation under his fingertips. But he needed to be professional, needed to do his job properly. So he kept on rubbing as the moist sensation spread and he saw clear runny liquid trickling down Fossil's chest.

Fossil chuckled. "Male lactation," he laughed. "Doctors don't know what causes it."

Howard felt that nausea come back over him.

Grimacing, he pressed his palms to Fossil's chest and spread the flowing milk over him, watching the glimmer of wetness extend over Fossil's meaty chest. Fossil groaned and took hold of the back of Howard's head, moving it closer to his chest. Holding his breath in disgust, Howard opened his mouth and licked. He worked his way up until he found Fossil's left nipple, then wrapped his lips around it and sucked. He shuddered, and he felt Fossil doing the same.

But, he realised, this stuff wasn't disgusting. It just tasted like milk. Regular ordinary milk, only warmer. He sucked deeper, then leant across to move to Fossil's other nipple.

Then he picked up a mouthful of Fossil's saturated chest hair.

Howard shot back on the bed, retching. He turned over onto his hands and knees, heaving and begging himself not to be sick on his customer's bed. As he stilled and the pain in his diaphragm began to subside, he heard Fossil crawling over the bed towards him.

"It's okay. We don't have to do that if you don't want to."

"But I'm-"

"Hey, it's your first time too."

Howard relaxed and lay back, leaning on Fossil's wet chest.

His heart thumped in his chest as he felt Fossil's hand creep down lower.

Lower.

In.

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* * *

Howard woke up exhausted in the early hours of the afternoon. He sat up, grunting, glad that the bed was comfortable. 

"Nice to see you up."

Howard looked up to where his customer was standing, naked, smiling, and looking no more attractive than he had the previous night.

"Mr Fossil…" he groaned.

"Call me Bobby."

Howard just grunted again and tried to sit up. His arse was sore, but if he leant back enough this didn't bother him too much. As far as he knew it had been a good night. It had hurt at first, but Mr Fossil had shown him what to do, and made it as comfortable for him as he could.

He supposed he was lucky to have lost his virginity to someone so attentive, but then he didn't have anything to compare it to.

He dressed in silence, and Bobby Fossil paid him, three hundred and ten euros plus a forty euro tip, and offered to bring him back. Howard tried to refuse, but Mr Fossil had reminded him that Howard didn't actually know how to get back to the pimp's hostel.

As Howard stepped from the car a few streets from the hostel, just into Fellatino's territory, Bobby gave him a wink before driving away.

"I got a feeling I'll be seeing you again."


	4. Makes and Breaks

I thought this story could use some attention after all the Booshy Horror I've been posting lately. Also, I got my series 3 DVD today and I couldn't watch that and have Rocky Horror in for reference, and I got so inspired by all the beautiful stuff peple have been posting lately and i wanted toget back on the heavy-drama-tragedy bandwagon.

Also, there's some quite detailed stuff in here I don't think everyone would be comfortable with, but it's not graphic description like in the last chapter. This is also the last of the teen prostitution theme.

Hope this is okay cuz I just now wrote it and its 3:24 am and I need to go to bed because I actually have to do stuff in the morning. It's been ages since I was last in that situation. Goodnight! And enjoy!

* * *

Bob Fossil became Howard's best customer. He would pay around two hundred euros a night, plus tip, but this wasn't why Howard liked him so much. In the months he worked the streets he had seen his share of cruel customers. Some who forced him. Some who carried on regardless of how uncomfortable he felt or how much pain he was in. Some who beat him just for the hell of it.

Bob Fossil never did that.

Bob Fossil respected Howard's boundaries, prostitute or no, and he always seemed to want to make Howard just as happy as Howard made him. He grinned widely when he felt Howard come, and it always looked to Howard like some crazed rabid animal's grin, but he knew he had nothing to fear. Bob was still as unattractive as he had ever been, but he showed Howard pleasure like Howard had never known before.

And they tried different things. At first, Howard had been so nervous, Bob had been forced to decide everything; what they were going to do, and how, and where and in what position. But as Bob gave him more experience and more and more new ideas, Howard developed confidence and began to try out things in his own way. Sometimes, most of the time really, Bob would fuck Howard, but sometimes Howard would fuck Bob, and Bob liked it either way. And Howard decided that so did he. Sometimes they tried roleplaying, pretending to be popular fantasies or movie characters, or sometimes they used toys, or food. Once they tried spanking, but only did it once because Howard didn't really like it.

Howard learned everything he knew from Bob Fossil, and sometimes it felt to Howard like he had learned everything. But then there would always be something new, or some new variation, and he would be amazed at his mentor's adeptness all over again.

Sometimes Howard even felt bad taking the money from him.

After a while, they began making an evening out of it, and then an evening and a morning. Bob would call ahead to make sure Howard was free for the night, and ten he would pick him up in the usual place, and Howard would dress up specially, on Fellatino's expert advice, and Bob would take him out for dinner. And it would be a nice restaurant too. A quality pub, or a fancy Italian, or a classy curry house, or even the restaurant of an expensive hotel that Bob couldn't afford a room in. And then they would go back to Bob's place and go all night like tomorrow would bring the end of the world, and Howard would fall asleep wondering if that made them lovers. Could you be a lover when you were a prostitute? In the morning, if they were awake by the morning, Bob would take him out again, this time just to a quiet little café and buy him breakfast before taking him back to chill with the boys before the next night on the streets.

He was the happiest he'd ever been.

Occasionally his thoughts would stray back to the parents who brought him into the world and raised him, but they were only fleeting reflections, shadows of a past in the real world best left forgotten in the dust and barrenness of memory.

And then there was a face. A pretty, smiling and pointy face. And then he felt a twinge, a stab of regret, and wondered what this boy was thinking now. If he had forgotten him. Or if he still remembered, and missed him, and still waited for him to come round again with a laugh and a story he'd be hard pressed to believe.

He didn't know which was worse.

But he was happy now; he had new friends and a job. And he was making money, and saving it, and when he had enough he'd take a week off or so and go back to where he'd come from, pick up Vince and bring him back to meet Fellatino and the boys, and to meet Bob Fossil and the three of them would go out somewhere one night, and Vince could see Bob thinking he could dance and Vince would laugh and Howard would laugh with him and then Bob would come back and admit that he looked ridiculous and laugh too…

But it wouldn't end in sex. Not that night.

Yes, Howard was happy. But it didn't stop a niggle of guilt from creeping up on him in the night as he went to sleep, and he found himself pushing that face out of his mind as he drifted away, not wanting to remember, just for the night.

* * *

Had he been foolish to think that it would last? After five months, he had thought he was safe. But even after so long, was he still foolish?

Howard sauntered along the alley on his way back home one day in the late afternoon. Breakfast with Bob had turned into peoplewatching, and peoplewatching had turned into a movie, and the movie had turned into driving around the streets quoting lines from whatever films came into their heads and pretending they were fighter pilots in 'The Empire Strikes Back'.

Only Bob Fossil would ever come up with an idea like that.

"Howard Moon."

The voice was soft but full of subdued, sizzling fury. Howard turned to see Fellatino standing in the shadows, glaring with eyes aflame. He backed away. He had never seen his pimp look so enraged. Howard felt his pulse quicken and realised he was scared.

"Nineteen years old," said Fellatino, his voice purring in an ominous, silky tone. "Nineteen years old _my arse!_"

"What d'you mean?" Howard stuttered, inadvertently backing himself into a wall.

"I mean, word is on the street, that you're _sixteen_." Fellatino was positively seething by now, his teeth gritted and his eyes wide.

Howard only gasped.

"And it's true, isn't it," Fellatino hissed. "You're sixteen years old. Sixteen years old!"

"I-"

He was cut off as Fellatino slapped him brutally round the face.

"Do you realise how illegal that is?" he bellowed.

Howard had barely even opened his mouth before he found himself reeling from being slapped again.

"I'm on the fringes of the law as it is, Moonshine, without hiring out sixteen-year-olds to passing depraved freaks of a night! How fucking _dare_ you deceive me like this?"

Wincing from the last crack, Howard leaned heavily against the wall, holding his cheek.

It was then his eyes fell on Fellatino's hands. His white knuckles. His clenched fingers. His white-knuckled fingers clenched around the pimp stick.

"Oh yes," sneered Fellatino, seeming to relish it, following Howard's gaze.

"No!" Howard choked, trying to run. He had seen the pimp stick in action; it was meant for customers who demanded the boys work for next to nothing, or beat them too hard or tried to blackmail them. It had never been meant for the boys themselves.

Howard's escape attempt got him nowhere, and he tripped over a bin and landed sprawled on all fours. He screamed as he felt the pimp stick lash his thighs. He scrambled forward on the floor as quickly as he could, but not quick enough as the stick came back for a sharp attack on his backside. He managed to struggle to his feet and run, stumbling as the stick came back down on his shoulders and almost running into a wall as he dived out of its way when he realised Fellatino was going for his head. Dodging blows, he ran from the alley.

* * *

Bob was more than surprised to find his Moonshine collapsed and weeping on his doorstep at nine-thirty in the evening.

"Moonshine, hey, come on, get in here," he said, pulling his young friend up from the ground and leading him into the house. Once Howard had been set down on the sofa and plied with a hot cup of tea, Bob managed to coax a story out of him.

He listened as Howard wept.

So all this time he'd been paying for sex with a sixteen-year-old.

He knew it should feel wrong, but it didn't. He regretted nothing about the past five months. He made up his mind to keep Howard here in his home, and to stop paying him and look after him like a proper lover instead. Howard wasn't just a prostitute to him. He had never felt like this over another prostitute. His Moonshine was different. He may be a prostitute, but he wasn't a whore.

But it seemed Howard had other ideas.

"I'm going back home, to Leeds," he said through gasping, escaping tears. "I'm going back to Leeds where I belong."

And as Bob failed to convince Howard to do otherwise, and Howard finally cried himself to sleep, Bob took him upstairs and left him in his bed. Hours later, Bob joined him, and slept next to him, but didn't make love to him that night.

Or ever again.


	5. Jazzman

Sorry this took so long. I hope it will be appreciated in it's own time. Though if it's apreciated a hundred years in the future I'd be pleasantly amazed, if I was alive.

More sexy scenes in this one, but nowhere near as disgusting this time, not getting to the actual act of sex and not for money. And the flashback scene from Electro may not be entirely true to how the scene was performed as I haven't had time to write it from a clip, so I used a transcript instead.

So, si, bring on some dirty jazzers.

* * *

The train slowed down and pulled to a halt, and Howard wearily stood up and made his way through the clotted crowd of people to the exit. It was a part of the city he was familiar with, though only vaguely. He hadn't wanted to see any of his family because they would sell him out back to his parents, but he wanted to be close enough. It wasn't them he had come back for anyway; it was the city itself. He needed this city. It was his true spiritual home.

He had refused all of Bob Fossil's offers of money at first, only backing down because Bob had reminded him that he wouldn't be able to get to Leeds unless Bob gave him the train fare, as everything he had was back at the hostel, where he could never go back. So he had accepted that, and then, once he was on the train, he had discovered several hundred euros stuffed into his back pocket, which he couldn't even remember Bob going anywhere near. He was grateful, really, now he thought about it.

The only other thing Bob had given him was a name. A name and an address where Bob was sure he'd be able to find a room for rent.

_Elisaveta Gideon, 32 Northbrook Street._

Not wanting to call a taxi, as he didn't know how much his rent would be, Howard set off on foot through the cold evening air. He recognised the street; just needed to find it, and after just an hour or so, after a few wrong turns, he had found the house Bob had directed him to. It was almost midnight now, and he hoped he wouldn't be waking her up. Swallowing nervously, he knocked.

He heard a groaning, and the sound of feet scuffling and an object falling from inside the house. A moment later the door opened, and standing behind it was a woman, a beautiful woman, with a slightly stoned look on her face, dressed in what seemed to be lingerie, her hair tied up in some sort of knot which seemed to have started coming undone hours ago.

"Hello," she said, in a silky Eastern European accent with a vaguely suspicious hint in it, as though she wasn't used to people coming and knocking on her door.

"Mrs Gideon?" he asked, hoping his voice wouldn't waver.

"Mm-hmm," she confirmed.

"I, er, I'm Howard Moon, I heard you might have a spare room for rent," he said, wishing it wouldn't sound half so garbled. "Bob Fossil told me to come to you."

"Bob Fossil did?" she repeated. She smiled. "Come in."

The house was a mess. There were books and magazines and takeaway boxes and empty bottles all over the floors, and a layer of dirt covering the carpets and tables, and a faint smell coming from the sofa and chairs. A young man, a couple of years older than Howard was slouching over the sofa, looking a little sleepy. He smiled.

"Sit down," said Mrs Gideon.

Howard sat stiffly on the sofa as the other man moved his feet for him. Mrs Gideon threw herself sideways over an armchair, resting her legs on the arm. Howard tried not to look up her slip.

"Yes, there's a room for you," she said. "Forty euros a week, or you can pay a hundred and sixty every four, do your own housework…" She looked down at the trash-covered floor. "Or don't. Only one bathroom. Don't ask about the kitchen."

"Why not?"

"You'll see if you look in there."

"Oh…" Truth be told, Howard wasn't used to living in a pigsty. His parents had been as clean as everyone else, and the pimp's hostel had been surprisingly well-maintained. But Bob had recommended this place, so it must be good place to live. He couldn't imagine Bob ever sending him somewhere he wouldn't be happy.

"You don't mind music playing through the night?" Mrs Gideon asked, jerking him from his thoughts.

"Oh, no," he smiled. "It helps me sleep."

"Good," replied Mrs Gideon, returning his smile. "Because I work so much better at night. Francesco says I must be nocturnal."

The other man let out a small laugh, muffled by the arm of the sofa that he was resting his head on.

"You're a musician?" Howard asked, his interest swelling and causing him to lean forward as he spoke to her.

"I'm a singer," she told him. "Why? Do you play?"

"Yeah, a bit," he replied. "Just casual stuff."

"What kind of music?" She was looking at him intently, a curious, interested look on her face. Howard felt he may be blushing.

"Anything, really," he answered. "I play all styles."

"Jazz?"

"A bit." Back at home he had owned a few jazz albums, but no more than any other style. He had made a jazz composition for one of his assignments when he was still in school. He liked it, but he hadn't thought about it all too much.

"Maybe you could play for me some time."

"I… I'd love to."

Mrs Gideon smiled, and Howard hoped he wasn't going too red.

He felt himself going even redder (definitely far too red now) as she leaned forward and regarded him critically. "You look tired. I'll show you the room if you want."

"Actually," he said, now becoming red central, "would you mind if I stayed to watch you sing for a bit? I mean, if you were going to-"

"Of course."

Mrs Gideon took a bottle from the mantelpiece, full of clear liquid with the label pulled off. She took a swig and then offered it to Howard. He drank a little, grimacing at the burn in his throat. He heard a giggle beside him, and saw that the man beside him had his hand held out. Howard passed him the bottle and the man took a long drink, no reaction visible on his face.

Mrs Gideon sat up straight and cleared her throat, then held out her hand to ask for the bottle back. She took another drink. "I was going to start with that one I started writing last Tuesday," she said, looking at the other man.

The man nodded. "I liked that one. You finish it?"

"I think so," she answered.

Elisaveta Gideon had a voice like a fallen angel. She linked each note perfectly, but with a raw, emotional edge that brought her back down to earth, to share in the pains of lesser beings. An American lilt crept in and mixed itself with her Russian accent.

As she sang Howard fell into rapture, and the bottle was passed around, he felt the world fading until the burn in his throat when he swallowed faded to nothing and the air became thick and hazy, and he was oblivious to everything except Elisaveta… Elisaveta… Elisaveta…

* * *

When Howard woke up he was still fully dressed and lying in a bed, a little musty smelling but clean, with a glass of water on the small chest of drawers next to it. Sitting up groggily, he became aware of a faint headache. He looked at the clock next to the water. Just after ten-thirty. He took the water and downed it eagerly, before pulling himself out of the bed and leaving the room, coming into a narrow corridor. There were four other doors, two closed, two open. One open door led to another bedroom, very tidy and clean, which surprised him, and the other to the bathroom, which was also clean, if a little messy.

He wandered into the bathroom, relieved himself and splashed some water on his face before making his way downstairs. He found himself in the hallway, with a door that led into the room he had been in last night, and another further down opposite the front door which presumably led to the kitchen. He went through, and immediately understood what Mrs Gideon had meant when she requested that he didn't ask about it.

The bin was overflowing and a few cupboards didn't have doors. There was a crack in the window on the oven door and one of the hob rings had been broken in half somehow. Howard entered hesitantly.

The man from the night before was sitting in there with a bowl of cereal. "Morning," he said, looking up at Howard and smiling. Howard didn't seem to have registered the night before that this man had an accent too. "You must have been really tired last night," he continued. "You hardly drank anything before you passed out."

Howard couldn't quite manage to reply. He just watched as the man got up and crossed to the fridge, putting a hand up to the icebox door as he opened it to stop it from falling off, and took out some yellowy milk. He closed the fridge, looked at the label on the milk, sighed and tossed it into the bin. Looking at the floor, he scooped up as much rubbish as he could and tried to cram it in after. He washed his hands and returned to his cereal, picking it up and eating it with his fingers.

"Oh, sorry," he said suddenly. "I don't think we got introduced properly before. I'm Francesco; Francesco Ciriaco." He held out his hand.

"Howard Moon," Howard replied, shaking it.

Francesco smiled. "We're out of milk, you should know. I could do you an egg if you want." He pointed back at the hob. "I think one of those still works."

* * *

Howard soon came to realise that he was in a proper international house. Francesco, who was the one who did most of the cleaning and seemed to need far less sleep than Elisaveta, was twenty-three and had emigrated from an impoverished Neapolitan district, while the other lodger, Guillermo, whose room was bigger because he paid more, was a student from Aragon who was going travelling before he started his university course. Elisaveta herself had come over from some undisclosed part of Russia years before as a mail-order bride.

Howard began to settle in what loose form of a routine there was around there. He and Francesco would be the first to get up, usually around nine or ten in the morning, followed by Guillermo some time before noon, and eventually by Elisaveta in the mid-afternoon. They wouldn't do much during the day, but of an evening Elisaveta might have a gig at some jazz club or other, which they would all come along to see. She would rehearse first, often in contrasting states of dress; for example, she might do it one night in a miniskirt and stilettos, but with her hair hanging loose and no top on. Then the gig would begin, and she would wear tight cocktail dresses or tiny short things that didn't look too dissimilar from her slips. Occasionally, she might even treat her audience to a long ball gown. Howard began to get used to the vodka, and the whisky and the brandy and the gin and the rum and the tequila, although he wasn't too good with the absinthe. He took up smoking, as his entire household did it, and Elisaveta did it on stage, so he reasoned that he might as well.

Or if she didn't have a gig, they would stay in, and drink and smoke and listen to her practise in the living room until they got too tired and hauled themselves up to bed at some godforsaken hour, to begin again the next day.

Some nights, later on, Howard would take out an instrument he had bought from an old second hand shop, usually a trumpet, which he had a certain fondness for, and play with her, her fallen-angel voice covering over his somewhat Forneusish playing. Sometimes she even allowed him to play at one of her gigs, though he noticed that these tended to be gigs of low attendance or in the tamer clubs. Whether this had more to do with the low quality of his instruments or because he wasn't really that good, he wasn't sure.

But he loved jazz. He loved jazz because he loved her, and she was jazz. She was a stained phoenix that had received a gift from the spirit of jazz itself.

Howard would do anything to be able to live up to her. Anything at all.

* * *

He was sitting in the club, alone. He thought he had played particularly badly tonight, and he was slumped on the bar, waiting for the others to return from the toilet, where Francesco and Guillermo were helping Lisi as she threw up after having drunk too much after the gig.

He had grown his hair and was trying out a goatee, and had even taken some nights to wearing plain-glass spectacles, a habit he would later realise that he had picked up without realising from Lisi, who was slightly long-sighted.

He scatted, subconsciously, under his breath. The barman, a spotty, stupid protozoa of a man named Clive, snuck up on him in that vampire-like way of his, making Howard jump in his seat.

"Get yourself outta here, Howard, don'tcha have a home?" Clive squeaked, reminding Howard of a frog whose voice was breaking.

"This is a jazz club, isn't it," Howard pointed out, thinking that perhaps with Clive there might be a reason for this beyond sarcasm.

"Yeah."

"Well, wherever jazz is, I is," Howard replied. He had become ever more confident in the truth of this statement every day. "Bebop's my home."

"I thought you lived on Northbrook Street, near the Budgeons."

"Yeah, it's a metaphor," explained Howard, trusting Clive not to realise. How this man ever thought he had the right to take the high road with anyone was just one more substantiation of his own stupidity.

"You've been hanging around here the past three nights," scoffed Clive. "What're you hanging around here for?"

"Is something wrong with your voice?" Howard asked, aware that Clive knew full well that he was Lisi's session trumpeter.

Clive cleared his throat. "What're you hanging around here for?" he repeated, in exactly the same grating screech as before. Well, it had been worth a try.

"Gonna be a jazz musician," he stated, eyes full of determination and pride, which were swiftly pulled from his face as he realised Clive of all people was laughing at him. "Something funny?"

"Yeah!" guffawed Clive, leaning over the counter to keep his balance. "You know there's those who got it, and those who ain't."

"I'm gonna get it, okay," Howard snapped. To some extent at least, the trumpet had to be holding him back. God only knew how many pervious owners it had had.

"No you ain't," replied Clive, looking at him with evident mockery. "Y'know why? 'Cause you ain't got the spirit of jazz inside you."

Howard glared at him. How dare this man, this _Clive_, speak of the spirit of jazz? He had never appreciated the work of the spirit of jazz. He had never appreciated Lisi in all her glory. He was blind to the spirit. He couldn't see.

"Well I've got a dream inside me," Howard retorted. A dream of Lisi, a smoky club, beautiful music enjoining the two of them in one rapturous performance. "How's that for you?"

Clive just looked him straight in the eye. "Howard, there's a job opening here, as a barrel monkey, with your name on it. I suggest you take it." Howard almost punched him when he realised he was being earnest. A barrel monkey? How dare he? True, Howard Moon may not be a powerful jazz guru just yet, and the money was running very short, but he would never sink himself so low as to be a barrel monkey. Especially if it meant subordinating himself to Clive.

"A barrel monkey? I'm Howard Moon." Future legend.

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a thank you, no."

"Whatever," Clive yawned. "Here's the keys. Lock up when you're done." Clive left at last through the door behind the bar. "Good luck, fool!" he called after him.

Alone at last, and wondering how long the others would be, he took his trumpet from its case and blew into it. He pressed the keys, and then almost pounded on them, but however hard he tried he couldn't get the bloody thing to make a sound.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed. There was a snapping of fingers, and a strange figure appeared on the other side of the room. Howard took in the sharp white suit and flaming hat, the long dreadlocks and the jet black face, painted with white lines like a skull. Baron Samedi. Baron Samedi himself had come for him.

"Well, well," the figure rasped. "What have we got here? Hey there, little fella, mm, little piece o' chicken. What's happenin' boy?"

Howard was altogether alarmed. Did Baron Samedi usually rape his victims? Howard wished he knew more on the subject.

"Who are you?" he asked, his wits abandoning him in this terrifying situation.

"Mm, I's the Spirit of Jazz," the creature answered.

Not Baron Samedi? Or maybe they were the same thing?

"What do you want?" Howard asked, trying to be brave, but aware that the trembling in his voice was probably still evident.

"Ooh, you in turmoil?" the Spirit asked, relishing in Howard's discomfort. "What's wrong? Why don't you tell Uncle Mario what's wrong?" There was no concern in his voice. He sounded… greedy, wanton.

"I want to be the greatest jazz player in Yorkshire," Howard stated, courage and desire finally winning him over. He looked straight into the Spirit's eyes, and was rather put out to see he looked confused.

"Yorkshire?" the Spirit asked. "What is Yorkshire?"

"Yorkshire is a place," Howard told him, and then, wanting to appear deeper to this impressive, if frightening, entity added; "Yorkshire is a state of mind."

The Spirit shrugged. "Yorkshire, New Orleans; it's all the same to me, baby." The Spirit grinned, showing off black teeth. "Yeah, baby, I'll make you famous. You wanna be famous?"

Howard nodded, taken over completely by the Spirit and the thoughts of greatness he induced. "Yeah…" he breathed.

"You wanna be on the wall?" the Spirit continued. "Look at this guy; Blind Barney Shortbread. Huh, what a player. I seen him play with my own eyes; man was a genius. What about this guy? Hot Weewee Jefferson, the Cystitis Kid. Man, when he was playin', those pipes was on fire. I could make you like that. D'you wanna be on the wall, Howard Moon?"

"How do you know my name?" Howard was compelled to ask.

"It's on your trumpet case, asshole," the Spirit reminded him.

"Oh yeah." Howard took a deep breath. "So what do we do, then?"

"Well, maybe I'll make you famous," the Spirit teased, "maybe I'll do all I say." He locked his red eyes with Howard's again. "But maybe you gots to do somethin' for me. I gots needs too, y'know."

"What?" Howard asked, desperate to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Never mind the itty bitty details, just sign here, baby," the Spirit instructed, as a contract materialised in his hand, which he passed to Howard. "Sign here."

"In blood?" Howard asked, willing.

"Biro's fine," replied the Spirit, passing him one.

Howard took the pen and signed it, and he was about to hand it back when a particular passage caught his eye.

"Hang on," he said. "What's this stuff about… ownership of the soul?"

Howard could feel himself begin to panic. What had he done now? He had gone through so much. So many close shaves. But he still had potential. He still had so much to give.

But the Spirit snatched the contract away, sealing the deal. He laughed, and it was truly the most sickening sound Howard had ever seen. "Yous is mine boy! You signed right there! You signed your soul away!" It made Howard feel nauseous to think he could speak so lightly of such an act. "Yeah, I own you, baby! Every time you pick up an instrument, I'll be there, inside ya, wearin' ya like a glove! Your sweet ass is mine!" The Spirit celebrated, laughing and taunting, and scatting mockingly. "Ow-chika-chika-ow… Ow!"

The Spirit had thrown his flaming hat to the floor and was glaring at Howard. "Man, my hat's on fire; why didn't you tell me?" he demanded as Howard watched him stamp it out. "What's wrong wit'chu? You blind? Why din't you tell me?"

"Sorry," Howard mumbled. "I… I thought it was your look."

"No, it ain't my look; that's a brand new hat!" the Spirit whined. "Spoiled my exit now." He wandered off into the toilet, and Howard waited for him to realise. He did, moaning, and left.

Well, if that was the Spirit of Jazz, he couldn't really be too much trouble, could he?

* * *

The change was immediate. It started with a feeling, when he was onstage. Not so much that he was being controlled, more… guided. He still moved his fingers over the awkward keys of his trumpet to make the music as he chose, but he could feel the Spirit's influence, gentling his touch, strengthening his blow, creeping into his mind and sending him thoughtwaves, new improvisations, new ideas, new inspirations.

Then he heard it as he played. He heard how much better his own playing was. It shocked him just how much better the Spirit had made him. He truly was well on his way to becoming a legend.

Lisi also noticed his improvement, and she started to give him bigger, better gigs, and more and more until he played with her practically every night.

She didn't mention it though, until a few weeks had passed.

"You know, I can't believe how much you've improved lately," she told him as she let them both into the house after having walked home alone, Francesco having met a friend earlier and gone drinking with him and Guillermo being asleep as he was quite ill from the terrible state of insanitation his room was in. "Did you buy a new trumpet?" Lisi asked, closing the door behind them.

"No," replied Howard. "Just got better."

"It really is amazing."

Howard was glad it was dark. It would have embarrassed him if she'd seen how much she could still make him blush even after all this time.

"Really, really amazing…"

Not quite aware of what was happening, Howard felt her hand latch onto his arm and pull him into the living room. In the fumbling darkness their lips met and meshed together, and Howard was surprised, and not for the first time, by how much shorter than him she actually was. Her arms groped his back and shoulders, and his traced her spine in the way he had learned to do with dozens of satisfied customers.

He found himself pushed onto the sofa, her slighter frame on him and around him as they coiled together like snakes. Her fingers were at his shirt buttons, and he felt them come apart until those slender fingers were fondling the hair on his chest. He caressed her shoulders, pushing down the straps of her dress and taking it down to her waist. Her hands came up to the back of his head as she released them from the straps, and he brought his head down to her bared breasts to suck on one tender nipple. She gave a choked gasp of pleasure, and more after, the most welcome sound Howard had ever heard. Her fingers pressed into his shoulders and his neck as he moved down lower, hooking his own fingers into the dress at her waist.

Suddenly she pushed him back.

"No," she choked. "Not yet."

"I am… experienced," Howard reasoned.

"No, it's not that," Lisi tried to explain. "It's just… my husband… when he… when I… not yet."

Howard removed his fingers from their place at her pelvis. "Okay," he sighed.

And as the dawn drew ever closer, they fell asleep.

* * *

Something was about to happen. He could feel it. Record company execs, TV companies, tour promoters, whoever; they were going to come and take them away from this dank and sleazy Leeds life and onto the high road, where things really mattered. Where the great and the gods of jazz would come down and meet him, and accept him as one of their own.

And Lisi too. She would be the Athena of jazz. The Isis. No more slumming down on Earth where she had fallen; she had worked her way back up into Heaven now, and they only had to wait for it to come a-calling.

"Gettin' a little full o' yourself, ain'tcha, boy," came the wheezing rasp of the Spirit from behind. "Don't forget who put ya up there."

"I had it in me all the time, though, didn't I," replied Howard. "You just let it out. It was all me playing."

The Spirit laughed; a raw, unnerving, unhealthy sound, and Howard turned to see his beaded dreadlocks sway as he shook with laughter.

"Oh, boy, you do say some things," he said, once his rough voice had settled. Howard felt strong, bony fingers squeeze his sides, pinching and digging in mercilessly. "Now you knows it was me makin' you great. You knows you'd just be another talentless little nobody out on the streets o' nowhere if it weren't for me. I gave you all that, an' I can take it all away. Just like that." The Spirit laughed again, softer and more controlled this time. "Or I's can give ya a warnin' first boy, an' you won't like it. Oh, you won't like it at all."

The Spirit was grinning. There was menace in that smile, but Howard knew to ignore it. He had to be the one in control. The one with power. He had to control the notes, the ebb and flow of the sound waves, the minds and hearts and souls of everyone who listened. Not this Spirit. Him.

"Whatever you say," sighed Howard, leaning back on the table, eyes focused on the door to Lisi's dressing room.

The Spirit laughed again, just as harshly, but now cruelly as well.

"Oh, we'll see about that boy," the Spirit leered. "I's can take it all away."

He vanished.

* * *

Head lolled back on shoulder of white suit, eyes blank, ruby-lipped mouth hanging open, body still and slumped, one bare breast shuddering with ragged breaths, legs twisted under her.

Black teeth grinning over her head.

He rushes in, screaming.

"LISI!"


	6. The Beginning of Something Interesting

I'm so proud to see this finished. It is my baby. The longest time I've ever spent on a fic- right from when I finished writing The Secret History of Vince Noir, through a very early and very long period of writer's block, through my life-changing discovery of slashfic and porn, and right through to the golden age of Boosh on FF Net, where we now have many more fics than the British comedy section (which, btw, is very very good).

If you look closely after the porpoise derby in Electro, Flipper and Wilkinson are two names on the odds board behind Howard. I am sad for scrutinising this.

Anyway, I really hope you like this. It feels a bit monumental in a way, after all the time I've spent on it. Thanks to everyone who read.

Btw, if anyone wouldlke to PM me about my songfic idea on my profile (plz look), I would appreciate some thoughts.

Please enjoy.

* * *

He felt the vibrations in the seat, the gentle rocking of the carriage lulling him into placid, sleepy nausea. Three months, he reflected, was far less time than he had planned to spend in his native city. He had thought it might be for life. But three months, and then he had been forced to go on the run again.

He had tried to stay. He had stayed a few days, to make sure she was okay. She was. In a way.

He had gone into shock, but luckily Francesco had heard him screaming and come running to see what was wrong. He had called an ambulance, and the two of them had sat around until she woke up.

She hadn't recognised him.

The doctors had said that there didn't seem to be anything wrong with her. They couldn't explain what had happened, so they had decided to keep her in for observation for a few days, just to be on the safe side. She had no lasting symptoms. No nausea, no dizziness, no weakness, no fainting, not even a headache. She'd had no problems recognising Francesco, or Guillermo when he finally made it there.

She just hadn't got a clue who Howard was.

There was no sense telling her anything. That they lived together and he paid her rent, that he played the trumpet for her, that they'd almost made love once… all those memories had been removed from her mind, like they never even existed. So he had just left.

He felt bad, leaving Francesco to take care of everything on his own. Guillermo had already left, having been freaked out and decided to move on to Norway, and Howard would have loved to have stayed, but Lisi had looked genuinely afraid to wake up and see him sitting there, a complete stranger in her hospital room.

What else could he do?

He was going back to London, maybe to meet his parents again, maybe not. He was going to see Bob Fossil. He didn't know how he would react, but he felt some kind of strange duty to tell him everything. He knew Lisi, so he deserved to know the truth. And then, he didn't know. He'd find a job somewhere, some way to make money, somewhere to live. He'd do what he could.

He thought briefly back to Vince, then pushed him from his mind in guilt. Perhaps he would go and meet Vince again. But he had no idea how he would be received. He had just disappeared without a word for almost eight months. He had barely even spared Vince a thought when he was in Leeds. It made his heart drop in his chest to think of now, to have just left him hanging like that.

Could he make it up to him? Would that be possible? Would Vince let him if he tried?

Surely he would, he was that kind of person.

Musing, he rested his head against the dirty vibrations of the window, watching minutes pass in an instant with every tired jerk of his falling head, until eventually he let his head drop and didn't bring it back up again.

* * *

After hours on the train, and then a further few hours trying to navigate through the still unfamiliar streets of London, Howard found himself once again at the door to Bob Fossil's house. Swallowing and taking a deep breath, he knocked. The door opened, and he watched, oddly reminded of a film on mute, as Bob's face lit up to see him, and the fell again as he read the expression on Howard's face.

"Hey, Moonshine," he said, trying to sound like his former prostitute turning up obviously distressed on his doorstep wasn't the most unnerving thing that had to him that week. "What's up?"

"It's Lisi," Howard replied. "I need to tell you something."

* * *

Bob listened with his mouth open, and didn't react for a while after Howard had finished.

Howard ducked his head down, reluctant to meet Bob's eye, and shifted in his seat, unable to make himself comfortable under the gaze of a friend of the woman he had brought misfortune to.

"Whoa, Howard…"

Howard pressed his thighs together and leaned forward, arms on his knees, head down.

"Are you alright? I mean, shit me…"

Howard looked up and stared at him. His mouth opened, and air seemed to catch in his throat before scraping out in one choked word. "Lisi…?"

"Hey, don't worry. I can sort out Lisi. You said she's mostly okay, right? Look, Howard." Bob was staring right into his eyes, making Howard a little uncomfortable. It didn't help, either, that even after months apart from Bob, Howard still wasn't used to him calling him by his proper name. "It's you I'm worried about. What are you gonna do?"

Howard just sat, silent. He hadn't thought what he was going to do. He hadn't started searching yet. This had been his first port of call, and his mind hadn't been able to rest before he had come here.

"'Cause if you need something, I got this new thing going on. You might like it."

"New thing?" Again, Howard was choking his words out. He couldn't quite believe the reaction he was getting? Had people forgotten Lisi as well as her forgetting him? Was she going to be okay?

Howard noticed that Bob's eyes had gone faraway as he looked at the ceiling, and his face had a dreamy expression on it. "Yeah," he sighed. "I met this guy in a gay bar in Kensington; don't ask, and he said he owns this zoo that needs a new manager, and he thought I looked like the right kind of guy for the job."

Howard couldn't help gaping at Bob with his mouth slightly open. Bob was not a zoo type person. Even after knowing him, albeit intimately, for a relatively short period of time, Howard knew that animals and customer relations weren't really going to be Bob Fossil's talents. He couldn't help but wonder why this man who had captured Bob's imagination so wildly had chosen him.

"Apparently," Bob continued, "the last guy who had this job fell in with some ocelots! And I don't know what those are, but they sound pretty cool."

Howard's eyebrows raised a little of their own accord. Bob really knew how to pick 'em.

"So anyway, I have the power to hire and fire people whenever I want for whatever reason, and there's a few guys I don't really like, so… you want a job?"

Howard stared, still, for just a moment. Then he grinned. "Yeah."

* * *

All was not well. Howard ducked round a corner, hoping that Bob wasn't coming the same way. Fortunately, he wasn't.

He was in a predicament. A terrible predicament. One of the worst he had ever encountered, without a doubt.

And it had cost him the trust of Bob Fossil.

He had been staying at Bob's house, sleeping on his sofa, for just over a week, since he had started working at the fabled Zooniverse, which, if he was honest, was little more than the mythology Bob had lured him in with. Bob had left him alone for so long, but he knew eventually the night would come, and he had been meditating on the thought since he had decided to find Bob again.

At first it had seemed to have gone well.

Bob had come downstairs just before midnight, wearing pyjama bottoms but no shirt, smiling down at Howard as he sat with a book he had been trying to read for weeks under his blanket, and casually invited him up to bed.

At first, he had seemed understanding when Howard refused. Howard didn't want to be used for sex any more. He was waiting for the right moment, the right chain of events, the right combination of emotions, and that just happened yet. And besides which, since Lisi's downfall at the hands of the Spirit of Jazz, he hadn't felt in the mood for sex at all. These weren't the words he used to explain himself to Bob, though. He had used kinder words, words that did their best to imply that when he was ready, he would come to Bob.

"Hey, Howard, you don't understand," Bob had reasoned. "I don't want you to whore yourself any more. I want to be your lover."

Howard had still let him down, as gently as he knew how. It hadn't worked. Bob had tried several times to convince him to sleep with him, but Howard had refused each time, and tried to do so kindly.

But Bob Fossil hadn't seen it his way. He had flown into a rage. And he had resorted to blackmail.

"You listen to me, Howard Moon; you will do what I ask you to. And you know why- because I know your history. I know you were a whore, and you Did It for money. And I've got pictures to prove it. And unless you want those going around like the Chlamydia, you better do what I say. You're my bitch, Howard Moon, and don't you fuckin' forget it."

Fortunately for Howard, Bob had stormed off in a rage at this point, and hadn't gone so far as to force him into sex. But Howard knew he wouldn't be able to stay there any more, not without fear of the consequences, and so he would have to find somewhere else. The little hut he sometimes spent his breaks in was all he had been able to find so far, but once he had saved up a bit of pay, he was sure he'd be able to afford a deposit on something.

Watching Fossil walk on past, Howard continued down the passage he had hidden in, coming out onto the main courtyard. He stopped in his tracks, having to mentally squeeze himself to stop himself becoming upset.

He had brought her back, given her a job like he had done for him.

Elisaveta Gideon, blissfully unaware of his existence, sat on a wall, eating something, chatting lazily with another new starter.

He didn't like to see her here. She was too good for this place. She was a fallen angel; she should be living in decadence and sin in some hazy night life, with drink in her veins and debauchery and sweet music in her soul. Not here. Not here in this zoo. Not so dressed, so covered, not with her hair so tidy like she had never strayed from the path of decorum in her life. It was like she was a different woman. He didn't know how she could have changed so much from losing her memory of him, when she had been the way he remembered her before she had met him. Maybe the place had changed her.

Howard had heard she had been put in charge of reptiles. Apparently she had a way with them, snakes in particular. That didn't surprise Howard. Once, on one of the rare occasions she had left the house for a reason other than a gig, she had spent almost two and a half hours in an exotic and slightly dodgy pet shop with a snake around her neck, looking at it, talking to it, kissing it, staring at it like it was the last thing on earth.

He listened to them, out of sight. They were talking about harps. He smiled. Harps. Yes, they would go so well with her. They would contrast. She the darkness and the harp the light. But not now. She wasn't herself any more.

* * *

Howard had done his best to escape Fossil's advances so far, but he hadn't always managed to get away unscathed. He had seen a side of Fossil that had never come out before; a deep sadistic cruelty, a joy in humiliation, a thrilled sneer of derision.

He was not proud.

Other than that, well… his life was so-so. The zoo wasn't perfect but it paid well. The hut kept the rain from his head as he slept. He had made friends, sometimes went out for a drink after work with Joey Moose or Dominic Flipper or Monica Wilkinson, and that almost made up for the fact that she didn't even seem to remember him from day to day.

But it didn't feel enough. There was something missing. Something he had had before.

He had come to find it.

The best friend.

He supposed, as of now, Wilkinson was perhaps who he was closest to. She was the harp-player, but she wasn't the typical impression of a harp-player. She was loud and funny and outgoing, but she was also boisterous and crude, and she liked to drink of an evening, but she was quite small and couldn't hold it very well. He had had a trouble making the connection with her that he knew he had felt before, stronger in one person than any other.

And that was why he was waiting outside the school gates, a place that reminded him of just how young he really was. A man's life in a boy's lifetime, even if it wasn't in a particularly boyish body. He was dressed in the muted, inconspicuous way he had taken to lately, a not quite subconscious expression of a desire to remain hidden in the shadows, to take a break from the world for a while, to give himself time to recover. He had only kept the hat. The hat with the black ribbon he had been wearing on his last day as a prostitute. It was easy to hide under, and Howard almost quite liked it.

He was sad he had missed the day. It was May the fifteenth, three days too late, but he had still gone all around town to find a gift, spending as much as he could in the hope it could be close to almost perfect.

It was quarter past two, so he still had a fair while to wait. He hoped no one got suspicious of the older-looking stranger in the prossie-hat with a gift-wrapped package outside the school.

Suddenly the doors clanged open, and Howard spun to see a familiar face, contorted in rage.

And then that face looked on his, and the rage melted from it and the face flowed into wide-eyed, open-mouthed amazement, and from there into joy.

Vince pelted forward and flung himself at Howard, not caring that he had to jump slightly to get his arms around Howard's neck. Howard returned his embrace, squeezing him tightly without a word, as though afraid to let him go again.

"Where have you been you…? you… eight months!" Vince cried at him, voice raw.

"I'm sorry," was all Howard could say in return. "I'm sorry I missed your birthday."

He passed Vince his gift, and Vince took it as though he hadn't even seen it. "I missed you," he said, his voice calm now, and earnest. He threw his arms around Howard again, almost, Howard thought he heard, choking back a slight sob.

They set off walking, and Vince opened his gift. It was a Flying V-shaped pendant, not Howard's favourite by far, but the best he could afford, but Vince stared at it like it was made of solid platinum, instead of silver-painted brass. Then he wrapped himself around Howard again, stopping him in his tracks as they walked.

"You got kicked out of school?" Howard asked.

"Happens all the time," replied Vince, shrugging. "Apparently this is 'inappropriate'."

He indicated downwards, and Howard jumped a little to realise that when his attention had been completely focused on the anger on Vince's face earlier, he hadn't noticed that Vince was wearing a miniskirt.

They walked a little further, until Howard finally breached the subject he had been building up his confidence to bring up since he had first seen Vince's face.

"Vince, have you ever thought of just… leaving?"

"Like you did?" Vince asked.

"Yeah," Howard replied. "Coming and working with me."

Vince looked up at him. "What about my exams? They say I've got a chance at doing pretty well. Especially Art and French."

"You don't need them to tell you you're doing well," Howard told him. "You can speak French; you go to France and the French will know you speak French. They won't need some stuck-up examiner to tell them that you can understand them; they'll know when you open your mouth. You've done all you need to, the rest just gives you the piece of paper."

"I guess so."

"It's a zoo, Vince," said Howard. "Animals and people. You'll like it. Your future's made."

Vince smiled. "Yeah, alright then."

Howard caught Vince looking up at him in a cheeky, wanting sort of way. Howard sighed and plonked his hat on Vince's head. Vince let out a little giggle, and Howard joined him, and in a moment the two were laughing hysterically at nothing, as they walked together.


End file.
